Surge
by Dame March Dolcetto
Summary: "... I'd already completely given up." As the millennia pass on in Purgatory, the less he wishes he could feel. Peeks into the lifetimes of emotions in Purgatory. (counterpart to Stagnation)


**This was meant to be a counterpart to my other fic, Stagnation, but works as a standalone.**

**If Stagnation was a bit of an experiment, this was even more of one. Technically speaking, like with that, this was written as drabbles ages ago when I was trying to get into the mindset for the Wrong Time, now turned into a oneshot. Very much an experiment but I think I like it.**

**This was honest to God meant to be posted around two weeks ago but my internet provider pooped itself and so, I had no internet for two weeks. In the middle of papers season. I'm not sure how I'm alive.**

**... well, enjoy!**

**EDIT: I'm dumb and posted an earlier draft. Fixed.**

* * *

The acrid smell of smoke fills his lungs and the roar of the volcano fills his ears but he notices neither. Notices nothing. The ringing in his ears is all he can hear, the pounding of his hearts all he can feel. He hadn't even noticed when he'd finally left what was left of her (what little there was). He'd just been numb. He still was. Is.

From where he is, he could no longer hear the sounds of screams, of panic, of crashing foundations as an entire city crumbled in the wake of the cataclysm but even now, after having flown far, far away from it (from _her)_, he can still see it.

Ipipome, the town that was his home for twenty of the absolute _best_ years in his long, _long _life, burning to ash in the wake of the volcano's eruption.

Elizabeth—_Lisbet_—her burnt, broken body shuddering her last breath as she died once again in his arms.

Even their—

Even though—

He should be screaming. Should be crying. Should be destroying this _godsforsaken planet_ already for letting it happen to her over and over and over and over and—

But he isn't. And he isn't going to. It wouldn't matter if he did. It never would. Nothing would. This endless song and dance, this endless cycle of death and death and _death_ and him living through it all—

For all the grand things he'd sworn, for all the promises he'd made about fighting against the Demon King, the Supreme Deity, and all the twisted games they played with the Britannia in the balance, he'd just played along to their parents' schemes in the end. Did it ever matter?

_(She _did)

Even if it ever did, it wasn't going to matter anymore. Nothing mattered. What was the point?

Even from high above, the heat from the volcano's churning mouth is enough to burn him even through the darkness ever-present beneath his skin, His darkness, as always, tempted him to use it, through vengeance, bloodshed—rage in any form. But its voice is drowned in the numb, and, in an astonishing yet effortless feat of control he had never managed before, he banishes even his darkness away, lets its protection fade completely for the very first time since he'd been aware of it. He did not feel fear, or anger, and even that sorrow, that ever-present, achingly-heavy _weight_ in his chest... He did not feel it.

In that moment, he only felt calm.

Without saying a word, he releases a long-held breath and lets himself fall.

* * *

e̛̤̫͖̭̦̩̲v́é̼̬͕͕͇̣ͅn̬͈̼͉͚ ͚̰̲͕̩̜̙͘ḭ̞ͅf̫̰̫͢ ̶̜͎̙̘͕ͅy̠͉̲͖̠͕o̸̗̠̥̥u̢͔ ̝̦̠̞̹s̫̤̣̪͢ͅẖ̞̲̙͢ơ͚̩͉̼̠̩u̵͔̲̞l̙͓̤̠͜ͅd̙͜ ̸͇͔̗͔d̖i̶̬̺͍e͙̯̯͔,̩̫̗̞͓̰͠ ̻͔͖yo̴͎̰̼̜ͅͅu̕ ̲̖͍͎w͉̙͕̗͔͎͝ͅi̜͕l͔͉̝̱͇̙̰l͖̞ ̢͕͔̭b͞é̻̲̝̤̩̞ ̺̘͔͉ṛ̵̫͈e҉̯v͍̩i̻͔̯͕͓͇v̱̯͎̻͟ḙ͇d̞͠  
̶͙̰̗͖͉̮̙  
̣͉̺͇̀e̙ͅv̨͚̱͈e̱͉̱r͓̝͕̦͍y̤̟ ̦̟̩̠ͅt͍̗̫͙͈i̙̝̹m̨̠̙̪͇̙͉̪e͍͇͔͖̻͟ ̘̀y͙̳̹̳̙͍ou͇̦̬̱͈̫ ̷̳̤̠̣͖̤a̖̱̠̝͈̱̲̕r͎͎̭̞̣̤e̳̝͡ ͚̫͙̟̗r͇̫̰̪̳̞͕͞év͟i̵̺̼v̺̙̳e̺̺̖͔̘͢d̳̩͙̜͜, ̭̪͎̙̘̙̯͞ýͅo͍̻̕u͖̳̦̠r ̨͕͚e͚͢m̵̞̼̮̟͍̱o̠̻̞̘ṯ̛̺͇i̹̟̟ͅo̱̼̟̗͘n̠͞s͈ ̶w̤̣i̙l̻̼̦̪͡l̘ ̲̫̪͘b̞̮͓ę̪͉͍͎̳ ̸̱̥̳̣̳͍̜d͈e̗͝v̼̺̻͓͎͚͇o͉̣̪͓̰̙u͇̖̘̬ͅr͈̼̮̲̳͟e̫̥̮̙̮͉d̺͔͎͕

* * *

He wakes up in a cage.

He doesn't know how he gets here. The last thing he'd seen before the lava had burnt out his eyes was darkness, burning, smoke, and _her_ face in his mind's eye at the forefront of it all, beautiful, beckoning, and vibrant with life. Now he is a tiny box of a cage only barely bigger than a living room carpet, with a ceiling low enough for him to reach without even having to stand on tiptoe. The house he'd lived in with Lisbet was barely more than a cabin but it seemed downright palatial compared to this.

... it doesn't hurt him, remembering that house. Their life. _Lisbet._ Why didn't it hurt?

Because it should. Remembering after everything that had gone down should be painful, _agonizing,_ like tearing out his heart with his hands and yet—

It doesn't.

Despite everything, he does not hurt.

That, more than anything... should disturb him. But it doesn't.

He should be dead. He had meant to die. Had _craved_ it. But instead... he's here. Inside a box.

And outside his box was—

**"You're conscious. What a surprise."**

His father.

"Dad," he says cautiously. Seeing him is a surprise and nothing else and that, in turn, surprises _him._ "It sure has been a while since I last saw you."

He can feel his chuckle rumble through the earth beneath his prison. Through the translucent walls of his box, he could see that he was in a dark, cavernous tunnel lined with stalagmites and stalactites so that it looked like the maw of a monstrous, tooth-lined mouth, massive enough that it could have encompassed the entirety of the town he'd spent the last two decades of his life in. Despite that, his father loomed over it all, dark clouds of his miasma spilling from his shadows, making what should have been a massive space feel downright claustrophobic. From where he was standing, his father could've crushed him with a single finger. He was larger than life. He was the Demon King. He was his father.

**"You should be pleased, child. It has been far too long since our last meeting, has it not?" **he booms. He bends so that his face loomed directly over him, his beard spilling off of the edge of his box and obscuring his view. His teeth were bared in a shark-like grin. **"Aren't you pleased?"**

For whatever reason, he does not feel afraid. "Not really, no!" he says, as cheerfully as he can manage. "In fact, if you could leave now, I'd be pretty glad."

He laughs. The force of it makes the very earth shake around him but he keeps standing. He has to.

**"Impudent."**

It takes effort but he manages a grin. "I try to be," he says, tone kept carefully flippant. "So, was this _your_ doing?" he asks, waving an arm around his surroundings.

**"Not mine," **he rumbles. He bends closer, enough that he could see his eyes through the shadow of his helmet. _**"Meliodas'."**_

He stands his ground. He has to. "You're blaming me? Again?" He manages a sigh. "You never change, do you, Dad?"

He is not prepared for the _roar_ that was his answer.

**_"You_ are not my son,"** the Demon King thunders, loud enough that his ears rang and the cavern shook, enough that despite his best efforts, he is forced onto the ground. **_"You_ are everything he should have set aside."**

His eyes were disgusted, _cold. _Despite it all, he forces himself to stand up again even though the almost _physical _weight of his gaze, of his _rage,_ felt heavy against his back. His father could destroy him now, he knows, could crush him as simply and easily as if he were an ant. Despite that, he does not feel afraid.

He musters a smile as he raised his head to meet his gaze. "I'm not your son? Nishishi! So you've finally given up on me, huh? That's a relief."

The response is immediate. His father slams his hands down on either side of the cage, making him jump despite himself as stalactites fell and crashed all around him. He was so close, his face was all he can see.

**"_You _are not Meliodas,"** he proclaims.** "Don't you know what you are?"** He leers. **_"Little emotions?"_**

He stops. He does not feel afraid. But he feels cold.

"... What do you mean?"

His gaze was contemptuous. **"Hasn't your little _pet goddess_ told you? ****Whenever Meliodas dies, I revive him and each time I do..."**

Here, he smiles. From where he was trapped, he can see that smile from close enough to count his every tooth. He can't speak. He—he doesn't feel afraid, somehow, but it was like his tongue had turned into lead in the face of him.

**"I get to finally fix him of his distractions. I get to rid him of _you. _Piece by piece, I will return to my son to what he was always meant to be. And y****ou will be here where you can never disturb my son again."**

Before his father even finishes his sentence, he punches the cage with all the force he can muster. It wavers, sending ripples to distort his view of his father's face, but does not break. His fist ached. His breathing was heavy. "Not if I leave first."

He finally moves back. **"You will never leave," **he states coldly. **"This will be your final resting place."**

All he can do is laugh. He didn't even mean to, it came naturally as anything. He remembers Lisbet _(Elizabeth),_ remembers where he'd buried her and everyone else before his arrival here. His answer came almost without thought. "No, it won't."

**"Impudent." **He finally stands. The distance between them felt like a reprieve. **"We'll see how long you can last, _little emotions_."**

* * *

He never stops trying to break the cage. Through days and nights, for hours and hours, he batters at the cage with everything he has until his body gives and he has to rest before he can resume his task.

From time to time, his father would visit. Would watch. He doesn't stop trying.

From time to time, his father would send him _visitors. _Ghostly Elizabeths declaring their hatred, demonic Droles and Gloxinias and everyone else he'd left behind declaring his guilt in their fates, a broken Zeldris demanding his head, Gelda in pieces in his arms. He doesn't stop trying.

From time to time, his father would send him _guests. _Purgatory-born monsters his cage would permit inside, ones that could easily bear the brunt of all the force he can muster in the form he has as a still-sane spirit made manifest only through the rules of Purgatory. And, still, he doesn't stop trying.

Because he can't despair.

He literally cannot.

He is _hope. _He is made of joy and hope and positivity, nothing more, nothing less. He remembers how it felt to despair, how it felt to hate, how it felt to _rage_ but no matter what his father says, there's nothing that can make him feel anything other than _hope_. He is literally incapable of anything less.

That changes all too quickly.

* * *

The flow of time between Purgatory and the land of the living has always been unstable. For him, there are millions and millions of years in between those startling moments when he gets to be _reacquainted _with what pieces of him his father tears away from the Meliodas in the living world and he gets to experience all those years there for himself. Compared to his time _here, _the years he—_Meliodas _spends in the living world barely seemed more than drops in a bucket. At most centuries compared to the endless millions of years he gets to experience here in Purgatory, with his father.

Yet they were more than anything his time here could offer.

Over there, there were new friends, companions, allies, _Elizabeth._ Elize, Beth, Betty—no matter her name, no matter her face, she was Elizabeth and she was wonderful. She was worth everything. For every minute he experiences as the Meliodas in the living world, he lives more than he does in the centuries down here, and he keeps on trying to escape because he wants to go back, see her again, and _be _with her.

Here he's just alone in a box. For centuries on end, he is in Purgatory, alone in a cage he's too weak to break, where the air was toxic and burned and froze and would have likely killed him had he not already been a spirit and, for all intents and purposes, dead and damned. There is where belongs.

And yet—

It's horrible and awful because he knows that each time he gets _reacquainted, _each time he gets to become more of _himself, _he knows it's because he's given up on the surface and tried to just—

And he knows it because he's _there_ in the moment that happens. When he's reacquainted, the memories become his as if they were his own and there are periods when he tries to just do it over and over again with barely a gap in between the attempts to just end everything and it's—

It's awful because despite what he knows

He can't help but want to see them.

And he shouldn't want to, should never _wish_ to see more because that would mean that—

He just—

... He _can't _despair. He has to hold on to hope, he can't despair, he promised her he wouldn't, he _mustn't._

He just can't.

* * *

He would find out later that his negative emotions feed his father. Make him stronger. If he were to fully fall—

For the moment, he can't, _literally _can't, and so he does his best to avoid any negativity, repress anything that could threaten to 'nourish' his father, as he put it but he does wonder what would've happened if he'd known that while he'd been wholly on the surface. What would've happened if the Meliodas currently in the living world knew about it.

He wonders if it would make a difference if he did.

He wonders if it would have mattered regardless.

* * *

Elizabethwasindanger_Elizabethwasindanger**Elizabethwasindanger**_

The last thing he remembers is rage, pure unbridled _fury_, his blood screaming for darkness, and the need for power, more and more and more and _more,_ and the darkness is roiling in his blood and he's calling for strength he has not called in actual millennia and there's power rushing in his veins and his father's laughter ringing in his ears and—

He's here.

His face falls into his hands.

"Meliodas," he mutters, the anger, the _rage_, dying down as he realized just how much he could _feel_ and just how that came to be. _"What did you do?!"_

* * *

**"So,"** his father booms, laughter in his voice when he finally comes again once more, for once in the flesh and not through any illusion or proxy. **"****You're ****finally all here****, little emotions. For once, my son sends you over of his own accord."**

His father's laughter rings in his ears. There's nothing more he can do but bang at the walls of his cage and try to drown the sound of his voice. His fists are weak. His muscles are weak. He's alone.

He can't lose hope. He can't despair. He must not.

**"Why do you even want to go back, little emotions?"** his father asks, and there's a genuine curiosity in his voice that makes him look despite himself.

"It's where I belong," he says tersely. With Liones, the Seven Deadly Sins, and _Elizabeth. _"I wanna see them again."

His voice is raw with emotion. It hurts to remember but he can't imagine ever stopping. Liones, each and every one of the Seven Deadly Sins, and, as always, _Elizabeth._

**"And how are you so sure they want to see you?"**

He punches the cage hard enough that he would've shattered his own fist had he actual bones. "Shut up."

**"Say what you will, little emotions, but _I_ was not the one who tore you from my son this time,"** he points out, and, for once, his tone is not mocking or taunting or amused at his plight. He said it all quite simply, the statement as-a-matter-of-fact. **"_He_ was the one who ejected you from his body, my son. _My _son. _He _was the one who decided to call on the darkness, knowing it would mean losing you. Why do you want to come back, little emotions?"**

He punches the cage again with even more force than before. It wavers but remains. As it always has. "It's where I _belong," _he snarls. He kicks, punches, rams at it with all the force he can muster. But he's weak. And he's alone. The cage does not break. It has never once looked like it could.

But he can't lose hope. He can't despair. He must never despair.

His father looks down at him. **"You have never belonged anywhere," **he proclaims, and he can feel the words bear on him as if they were engraving themselves into his bones. He tries to keep standing in spite of it but it's _heavy. _So very heavy and he was all alone. **"And now that he rejected the last of you, you never will again."**

"He didn't mean to," he snaps. "I know he didn't, I saw what was going on—"

**"Yet he did."** His father was unyielding.** "The way he is now, who's to say he'll accept you anyway?"**

He can't help it.

He breaks down.

He despairs.

* * *

p͔̫̰͖͕ur̟̜͔g҉͇̤̘̹̰a̱͍͎̦to̖͇͡ŗ̞͈̙y̞̮ ̠͕̼i̪̥̫͈̳ͅs̤̲̘͈̥̣̞ ̲̰ͅa͉̞͙ ̟̪̲̻͈̤͠p͜l̶a͈̤̥͚̜̙͖͟c͉̪̗̳ͅe̠̘̥̻̗̝̟ ͙͖̙͈͉͍̮o͎̣͙͉͇̪̮͘f̥͢ ͙͘c̴͙̞h̷̠̫̱aos͍̱̤ ̱͓͎w͏͉̮̭͔̝̖̭h̳͍̤͠e͎̙̘̰͚̭̺͜r̶͉̟͚e͝ ͎͚̰͢m͉̺̻͉ͅut͏̙̲̰i̬̳̘̳͍ͅl̼̯͓̘a̫̻̜̯̗t̬̭͚ͅe͔̱͈̥͝d̘̲́ ̛̱̱͓̠̯̼s̙̟̮o̥͔̲̫͕̞͍u̳͇l̵͖̭̭s̰̹̰͕̜ ̨̰a̭̮nd̨̠͙ ̗p̦̮̜̖̪r̻e͓͟d̞̖a̢t̥̫ǫ̖̭̭ṛ̢̠y̤̲̼̳̬̙͞ͅ ̲̦̖͖͈̬̞m̡on̯̣̻̦͕s̹̻̖̺̼͇͘t̤͕̺͓ę̖̟͓̪̝r̕ͅs̷̘͕̝̘̦̩ ̺̰͎͙̪̺s̢̙e̠͚͇̕e̬̮̠͕̭k̻̞̬̙̤ ̩͎͖p̧͙r̛͙̝̮̳e͏͙͉y̨

* * *

It is a Dragon.

That is all it knows but that is fine. It is alone. That is fine. Because that meant that even the Monster had left it alone. That made it happy. It did not like the Monster and it knew the Monster did not like it. Nothing here liked it. That is fine. It does not like it either. And that is fine.

It has wandered the depths of this awfulsmellydarkhot place for time untold. It knows it doesn't like it here. It isn't sure how it knows that. But it's not like it can do anything about it.

So it wanders.

There is nothing else for it to do. There is nothing for it but to wander. That is not fine.

But that is all it can do.

And what else is there for it?

Then one day, after endless wandering, it hears a sound that changes everything:

* * *

"¡¿noʎ ǝɹɐ ןןǝɥ ǝɥʇ ǝɹǝɥM ¡dɐϽ"

* * *

It doesn't understand.

But it likes the sound. It follows.

It did not know why it likes the sound.

But it does. That is all that matters.

"¡ʇı uɯɐppoƃ 'ʎpɐǝɹןɐ ǝɯ ɹǝʍsu∀"

Such a nice sound. Was it a voice? Such a nice voice. It would be a shame not to hear more.

So, it follows the sound, looks for the source.

That is how it finds the creature.

It was an odd creature it had squashed beneath its feet. The creature was like nothing it had ever seen. The creature is small and hairy and did not smell like the usual smells. Instead, the creature smelled...

(Familiar)

Different.

Different from the furysouls and the purgatoryflesh that wandered the land. Smelled...

—_air that didn't smell like rot and corpses, air that didn't simultaneously burn and freeze, flashes of color and vibrancy and trees and grass_—

—_smiling faces_—

_—blue_—

(Like home)

Good.

Being near the odd creature made it feel... things.

It does not want to be away from the creature. It knows the creature probably does not like it but it likes the creature. It hopes the creature never leaves. It does not want to be alone, away from the creature.

So whenever the creature tries, it follows. It fights. It fights and fights. It does not want to be alone and fighting with the creature was

(Familiar)

Good. It liked fighting with the small, hairy creature. The creature was so much stronger than it thought it would be. That was good. The creature made it hurt but it liked that hurt better than any hurt the Monster did. It liked fighting. It liked fighting with the creature. It thinks it wouldn't mind dying if it was because of the creature. It fights until it tires and it has to rest. That was fine. Now, the odd creature smelled weaker than it. It could eat the creature now. Perhaps that would make it stay forever.

Their fighting would come to an end, though.

It doesn't want that to happen. It doesn't want to ever be separated from the odd Creature. But it would be awful if it could not fight with the Creature anymore.

And the Creature was going to freeze again, it suddenly realized. This place was awfulsmellydarkhotcold and that had always been bad for the Creature. If the Creature freezes here...

Maybe, at last, it could finally eat this Creature. Then they would never be separated again.

Their fighting would come to an end if it ate the Creature, though. It really does not want that.

But then, it didn't _have_ to eat the odd Creature, it suddenly thinks. Perhaps it could simply stay with the Creature. Perhaps the Creature could be its Friend.

... It wouldn't mind that. Not at all.

It would think on that. For now, it would just rest, too. Near the Creature. For all it is flawed, it is warm with fire. It wants to help. It is near when the Creature speaks again. And for once—

"Besides... " it _understands_ the Creature say. "There's a woman precious to me that I'm dying to see again..."

_—a smiling face framed with long, silver hair, one eye blue, the other, gold_—

It closes its eyes and follows Ban to sleep.

—_"Sir Meliodas!"_—

"Yeah..." Meliodas sighs, Elizabeth, as always, at the forefront of his mind, the first thing in his dreams. "Me too."

* * *

His eyes flicker open to the sight of tanned, scarred skin stretched over bony hands and the sight makes him _stare._

He had degraded, he knows. He can't even remember the last time he had actual _hands._

"... Hey there, partner," he hears an _achingly_ familiar voice say and he suddenly realizes he was not alone. In front of him was a creature —no, a _human_-like creature —no, an actual_ human, _a familiar, impossible, muscular figure with wild, overgrown silvery-blue hair, warm red eyes, and affection clear all over his bearded face. "How you feelin'?"

The warmth and affection, the genuine _relief_ in his eyes, it all makes him want to stare.

No, he _does_ stare.

"Why...?" At first, the sound of his own voice (scratchy and cracked from disuse as it was) startles him too much to speak. But he presses on. He has to know, he _must_ know. What the hell was his father playing at this time? "Why am I seeing an illusion like this?" A Ban that _cared_ about him, _anyone _who cared about him. And before he can hope, he quashes it down because he knows he shouldn't bother. "There's no way he'd be here in Purgatory..."

He _laughs. _Ban laughs and it is a cackle that's familiar and one he hasn't heard in what felt like hundreds of years. Thousands. _Millions._

"I'm the real thing, you baby," he says, and there is a world of affection in his face, a genuine happiness in his smile. He was _happy _to see him. "Or should I say, Captain~?"

It was _him._

He _bawls._

* * *

Meliodas had learned to suppress his emotions since before he could walk, all the better to learn to control that already inherently bloodthirsty power constantly thrumming under his skin but _he_ has no such quandaries; he is the part of his soul that allowed Meliodas to feel emotions in the first, he _is_ emotions incarnate and he has no reason to hide how he feels. There is no constant thrum of darkness seething in his blood, no constant howl for destruction. He is just... _himself._

So he smiles, he laughs, he cries, all without hesitation or restraint.

Because for the first time in a long, _long _time, he is not alone. When he'd been at his lowest, when he'd reached a point of utter stagnancy within Purgatory... he had been saved. Now, Ban is at his side. His friends are waiting on the other side. _Elizabeth_ was waiting for him on the other side. He knows all of this for himself.

So, now, he can't despair. How can he? He has his best friend by his side and he knows both who he is and who he's meant to be.

He is Meliodas, Captain of the Seven Deadly Sins, the Dragon's Sin of Wrath, and, above all that, the man Elizabeth fell in love with. He knows all of that. He understands it. That's why he knows what he has to do and keeps fighting for the chance to do it in spite of everything his father, the Supreme Deity, and the _entire damned world_ itself kept throwing in their way.

Because to be able to be with them, to be with her, to be with everyone, to _live_—

It mattered.

* * *

**Fun fact: this was super hard to title. With Stagnation, it was between either that or Stagnant Waters and I figured it out in a night but with _this... _Overflow, Submersion, Spring Waters, and Hydrodynamics were all considered. Might still change it, tbh. EDIT: Yep, changed from Spillage to Surge**

**Oft-Sprung Surprise is to be updated this week, assu****m****ing my internet stays alive.**

**This was a real experiment and felt pretty different to write. I'd appreciate any feedback. Anyway, feedback's always great and please, have a nice day.**


End file.
